A Simple Kind of Life
by f0xygrandma15
Summary: A fanfic based on Life or Something Like It. Hermione has everything she's ever wanted, until a sudden reunion with the person she left behind three years ago opens her eyes and may possibly change her life...WIP
1. No Pun Intended

A/N: Hey! Alright, so I know I'm in the middle of a story right now, but I got inspired so I thought I'd write this. If you've ever seen Life or Something Like It (with Angelina Jolie and Ed Burns) then you'll recognize the plotline a bit, because I was partly inspired by that film. Good job, you guys! Hehe. Anyway, I wanted to write a post-Hogwarts story, since I never have and I thought it'd be fun, so here goes! It's a little bit like other post-Hogwarts R/H stories that are comedies, but (not to dis those stories, cause I love them so much and I read them all the time) I wanted mine to be a little more realistic and in character. So I hope I've done a good job. If not, let me know. I may change it, I may not. It's not quite in my normal style of writing, but… I'm just gonna write what's funny, and if it gets a bit OOC, well I'm just having a little fun here. Hope you like it!

Lauren

Disclaimer: I don't own Ron, Hermione, Harry, Angelina Jolie, or Edward Burns…yet. (particularly the Edward Burns part…)

Chapter One

No Pun Intended

Picture this, if you will. Picture…a very beautiful young woman, about 24 years of age. Her hair a beautiful mass of curls, cascading down her back. Her eyes, the most decadent shade of brown. Honestly, one day you'll find you crave them. Anyway, this woman…creamy skin that looks so delicate and feels so soft to the touch. Very secure at a height of, oh, let's say five foot six, shall we? And a mouth that, with every word, causes shivers to crawl down your spine. Yes, a very powerful woman indeed. 

Do you have her in your head? Good. Let's get started.

"Shit! Oh bugger, oh bugger, oh bugger!"

Hermione Granger's alarm had just gone off. But somehow, someway, it had been delayed two hours and had just gone off at 8:30 a.m. She was now sitting bolt right in her quite large bed, rubbing her eyes and almost falling over herself before she rolled over and pressed her lips onto the mass of dark brown hair on the pillow next to her. She jumped up, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and took off across the rather large space around her (known as her bedroom) for the bathroom. The mass of dark brown hair still in bed happened (thankfully) to be attached a head, which in turn was attached to a body. The body of a very rich man. A very rich and powerful man. You see the attraction, no?

Ten minutes later, Miss Granger gracefully stepped down the steps from the bathroom to her impressively posh living room. (Yes, I know, ten minutes is impossible you say. But remember, this is the Hermione Granger we're talking about.) She opened the Burberry curtains, revealing the warm sunlight. The mass of dark brown hair moaned, hiding its face under the covers.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" it grumbled, very displeased.

"What do you think I'm doing? It's morning; time to get up and go to work," she said, now pouring herself a cup of coffee. She sat down at the table and opened the newspaper, sipping from her cup in that Hermione way. The mass of dark hair peeked its head over the blanket to take a look at her.

"Hermione, I'll never understand how you do it, but I guess that's one of the things I find so special about you."

"Hmm, what's that?" she asked, smiling.

"The way you can get up so damn early and make yourself ready in so little time…it's nearly inspiring, you know," he said, finally sitting up and shaking his mop of hair out of his face. Hermione grinned.

"Why thank you," she said, and she continued her reading and sipping. 

Another ten minutes later, Hermione was kissing her lovely, er, mass-of-haired man goodbye and stepping into the middle of the living room. With one last wink and a loud crack, she was gone. She appeared a moment later in the middle of a very noisy crowd. She looked around her, and spotting something she was looking for, she took off in that direction. 

Ten minutes and four floors later, Hermione was walking into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She walked briskly toward her desk, smiling at her coworkers as they passed, and within seconds, she was in her chair, picking up the several memos that had 'landed' onto her desk. Leaning back in her chair, she chanced a glimpse around the corner of her cubicle at a large, older man passing by and speaking jovially to another woman. Hermione sighed as she returned to her normal position and began to read her memos.

"Hermione, may I see you in my office for a moment?" came a voice from behind her. Hermione smiled in mock surprise.

"Why of course, Mr. Abernathy," she said, rising out of her chair. She followed him past three cubicles and into his office, taking a seat across from him.

"Hermione, I've been speaking with the Head of Department, and there's an open position for the chair in Ireland, and I'd like to send him your resume," he said, leaning forward against the table so that his bulging stomach spread in two. Hermione gasped.

"You're joking," she whispered, awestruck.

"Not at all! Of course I'm going to send it, are you kidding? You're probably the best Regulator we've got around here! I would figure you'd expect me to send it," he said, his chin bobbling as he laughed. Hermione let her eyes become transfixed momentarily as he continued to chuckle, then shook her head slightly and looked into his eyes.

"Mr. Abernathy, I can't thank you enough, this is wonderful! How can I thank you?" she asked.

"Well, actually, I'd like you to do an assignment for the next couple of weeks, concerning the Quidditch World Cup. There's been a few issues concerning the treatment of team mascots, particularly during the Cup games, seems as though their rights aren't being met, and I thought you'd be perfect for the job," he spoke, cleaning the dirt from under his nails.

"Sure, I'll get to work on it right away," she said, uncrossing her leg to stand up. "When do I leave?"

"Well, it won't just be you, you see, I think you'll need the assistance of someone who knows a bit more in that field, to help you out a bit. I'd like you to work with someone in Magical Games and Sports, so you'll get an expert to help you around, if that's all right with you," he said, fumbling for something in his desk drawer.

"Sure, that's okay with me," she said, now standing, and about to push in her chair.

"Great," he responded, and he pushed a button on his desk. "Shirley, could you send a memo to Magical Games and Sports for me?" he said loudly.

"Of course, Mr. Abernathy, who should I address it to?"

"Mister Ronald Weasley."

Hermione grabbed onto Mr. Abernathy's desk, steadying her wobbly legs. She pulled out her chair again and sank into it heavily.

"Ronald Weasley? Oh no, Mr. Abernathy, I-I can't work with him," she said immediately.

"And why not? He's the best in the department, really knows his way around, I promise! He's the very best, and he'll make it very easy for you," he said, overlooking the appearance of frustration on her face.

"But sir, you don't understand-"

"Hermione, what is so bad about working with him?"

Hermione stared back at him blankly. _Is he serious?_

"Well, it's—I can't really explain, it's—argh, sir, I just can't!"

"Hermione, do you want this assignment or not?" he said sternly, chewing on a bar of chocolate.

"Well yes, of course I do, but-"

"Well then it's settled. No ifs, ands or buts about it, you will go, and you will work with Mr. Weasley. You will start tomorrow, at Gloucester Field, at eight a.m., all right? Mr. Weasley will be there to help get you set up, and you can start as soon as you're ready. You'll do fine, perfectly fine, there's nothing to worry about. If I didn't think you could do it, I wouldn't have given it to you, you know that," he said, and with that he gave her a smile and let her walk out the door. 

"Kids these days…so many complications," he said with a sigh, and, grinning resignedly, took a large bite out of his chocolate bar.

Hermione stormed into her office, appalled. She grabbed her purse, shoved her wand and other important miscellaneous items inside, and stood at her desk. With a loud crack, she was back home in her designer living room. She dropped her things onto the couch and sank down next to them.

"Why me, why me, why me?!" she moaned to nobody in particular. A few moments later, she heard footsteps as the mop-headed man strode in and took a seat next to her.

"Why you what, sweetie?" he said in his very American accent. I suppose this would be a good time to introduce you to this previously mysterious brown head of hair Hermione loves so very much. His name is Don, Don Henson, and they met in America in a case Hermione was assigned to. He had been playing football (which Hermione assumed would be what we know as soccer, but had been greatly surprised to discover otherwise) when an animal attacked him. It had turned out to be a new, undiscovered breed of dragon and dog, which had undoubtedly left Don with a few souvenir bites. In an attempt to learn more about the animal, he was brought back to London, where they could study his bites. To make a long story short, Don and Hermione hit it off pretty well, and moved in together approximately seven months later and at this point have been living together for about a year.

But back to the story.

"Oh, it's just this new assignment I've got, I can't believe he's making me work with-with—with him!" she cried, throwing her arms up in the air. Don grabbed them and took her hands in his, smiling.

"Him? Who's this 'him'?"

"Argh, Ronald Weasley," she proclaimed, pronouncing each syllable succinctly, each with increasing distaste.

"Ronald Weasley?" he asked, mimicking her. "Well, who on earth is that fellow, darling?" he asked with his best British accent.

"Don, this is no time for joking," she said, fighting back laughter, "this is very serious! This would be a great opportunity if I didn't have to deal with that wally, he'll probably screw everything over and then what will I do? Grr, Don, what am I to do?" she wailed, strangling the air in front of her in a manner that could only suit a Weasley. Don chuckled, pulling her onto his lap and kissing her cheek.

"Look honey, he can't possibly be that hard to deal with. I mean, he's a guy, right? So just flirt with him a little, lead him on a bit, you know what I mean? And he'll be putty in your hands. That way he won't get in your way, and he'll think he's having a little fun."

Hermione's face froze. _What?_

"What? You're telling me to flirt with someone who, by the way, happens to be very much unlike you in every way, shape and form, and who happens not to be my boyfriend…I am almost insulted, why would you tell me to do something like that?"

"Hon, I'm just trying to give you a little bit of advice, that's all, make it easier for you. You don't have to do it, it was just a joke, all right?" he said, and he hugged her tightly and pulled her into a short kiss. Hermione grinned, pleased, then pushed herself from his lap and kissed his forehead.

"All right, well thank you for your 'expertise', but I'm going to go see if I can discuss this with Abernathy again, convince him that this is all wrong," she said, heading for the table to retrieve her purse. "I'll see you later tonight, right?"

"Of course you will, tonight."

He waved goodbye, and was soon waving to thin air.

Hermione headed down the crowded halls of level four with a determined expression on her face and mumbling her planned speech. Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle of the office at the end of the hallway and stepped inside. What she saw shocked her.

"Oh, Hermione, perfect timing! Look who's here, to meet you at last!" Mr. Abernathy proclaimed, his chins working overtime. Hermione gulped, her eyes fighting madly not to stare at the floor.

"Well, it's nice to see you again, Miss Granger."

Please review! I know it's not as descriptive as my other stories are, but like I said, this is just for fun! Hope you liked it! More is on the way!


	2. Meeting Again for the First Time

A/N: Hey guys! Okay, sorry it took so long for this one, but it took me a while to figure out what to put in this chapter. I think of all the upcoming chapters, this one is definitely the most boring and action-less. If you guys end up bored halfway through this one, I don't blame you and will not take any offense. I only hope that you'll stay for the next one, cause that's gonna be much easier to write. All the good stuff starts next chapter, all right? So please stay! I love you guys! So try and enjoy this one! Oh, and you guys were right, Hermione doesn't really curse, but in extreme situations, she's been known to curse and, worse, drink, as you'll find out in this chapter. That's just how I see her. If you don't agree, I'm sorry! That's how my story goes though.

And thanks to all of you who reviewed my first chapter! I'm glad you guys like it so far! Keep it up!

Lauren

Disclaimer: JK never has to apologize to her readers for crappy chapters! 

Chapter Two

Meeting For the First Time…Again

Hermione found herself faced with someone she hadn't seen or spoken to in exactly 3 years, four months, 2 weeks and 5 days. Ronald Weasley was standing only feet away from her, and the only thing between them now was…well, Mr. Abernathy's desk. As Hermione's face contorted into a look of grotesque shock, Ron smiled. 

"Well, it's just great to see you again too, Mio-Miss Granger," he said, catching himself. Hermione threw him a dangerous look, but Ron smiled even bigger, as though taunting her, which only made her gasp. Mr. Abernathy turned around to look at her.

"Well, don't you have anything to say to Mr. Weasley? The man you'll be working with the next few weeks? Come on Hermione, you and I both know you can handle this. You might not be used to having a partner from another department, but really, I think I know what I am doing. You trust me, don't you?" he asked, and this time Hermione was too flustered to notice his dancing chin. She crossed her arms over her chest and sat into a chair behind her.

"I see no reason why I can't do this assignment on my own, to be honest. You've seen my work, you know I can handle myself!" she snapped, realizing how immature she sounded, but she didn't care. There was no way she was working with Ron, no way in hell.

"Hermione, I know what you're capable of, yes I've seen all your work, of course I know you can handle yourself! I just think that in this particular area, you could use some assistance from someone who, whether you'd like to admit it or not, may know more than you in this field! That's all, Hermione. I know you have an issue with pride or something, but you have got to get over it, and now! I don't think our American counterparts will be very impressed if you can't even work with a partner without your ego getting in the way, do _you_?" Mr. Abernathy said, and Hermione fell silent. Ron watched on apprehensively as Hermione felt her face grow hot, but she rested her hands in her lap and sighed. When she looked up at Mr. Abernathy, her eyes showed a glint of steel.

"No, I don't, you're absolutely right, Mr. Abernathy," she said a bit shamefully. "I'll be ready by 7:45 tomorrow morning. Can I expect to see you at Gloucester Field at that time?" she said, speaking to Ron for the first time. Ron, at this gesture, looked a bit taken aback, and cleared his throat.

"Oh, um, yes. Yes, I'll be there at 7:45, Gloucester Field," he said, touching the collar of his shirt nervously. Mr. Abernathy chuckled.

"There, that's more like it! I knew you'd be all right, Hermione. You're team will be there at 7:45 as well, so no need to worry there. Both of you, get a good night's rest, so you can be ready for tomorrow!" he said, shaking Hermione's hand, and then Ron's. Ron looked at Hermione, as if asking to shake her hand. Looking him straight in the eye, Hermione grasped his hand roughly and shook it. Ron smirked back, and as soon as he let go, she spun around and left down the hallway in a huff. 

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was rushing down the busy streets of London, pushing her way through the crowd walking down the sidewalk until she reached her destination. She pushed open a large oak door that creaked under the pressure, then let it swing back closed as she entered the dimly lit room. She walked straight over to the long bar at the front of the room and slid into a stool. The bartender idled over, a rag in one hand and a martini glass in the other. 

"Well, what a surprise, seeing you in here," the man said, running a hand through his balding hair. Hermione grinned sheepishly, but his action made her think of Ron. Distracting herself from awkward thoughts, she glanced around the room in search of something.

"Oh, your friend's not here yet, Hermione," the bartender said, reading her thoughts.

"Oh, right," she said, chuckling. 

"Anything I can get you while you wait?"

"No thanks, I'll just wait till she gets here…"

When Hermione's friend Heather walked in fifteen minutes later, Hermione was halfway through her third Cosmopolitan and playing with a dish of olives. Heather slipped into the stool next to her and hung her purse on the knob of the chair.

"Well, looks like I've got some catching up to do, doesn't it?" she joked, picking up one of Hermione's olives and popping it into her mouth. "Hey Martin! The usual, please," she said to the man behind the bar. Martin winked, then disappeared behind the bar.

"Wow, must be some emergency, you're actually consuming alcohol," Heather said with a wry grin, picking out another olive as Hermione drained her Cosmopolitan.

"Well, I've just been given another assignment," she said darkly, plopping her glass on the bar, "and guess where I get to go?"

"Hmm…I have no idea, where?"

"Mmm, Gloucester Field," she said, sticking an olive on her pinky finger before gnawing it off.

"Ooh, exciting, can I assume this is quidditch related then?" Heather said, taking her very dry martini from Martin's large hand and taking a sip. Hermione nodded.

"Oh yes, yes you can. Knowing that, can you guess who I get to work with?" Hermione asked gravely.

"Hmm…quidditch related eh? So, obviously it's someone from Magical Games and Sports…haha, you know what I just thought? It'd be hysterical if you had to work with that Ron Weasley bloke, don't you think? I mean, wow. Now he is cute, very, very cute," Heather spouted, resting her chin on her hand and staring at the bar, deep in thoughts of Ron. Hermione laughed bitterly and asked Martin for a refill.

"Well, get ready to laugh, cause that's exactly who it is."

Heather looked up into Hermione's face, expecting her lips to crack into a joking smile at any moment, but realized that this was serious. She clasped her hand over her mouth and began to giggle, while Hermione looked at her reproachfully. 

"Are you serious? Ron? Ronald Weasley? Oh my god, you're not joking, are you? Oh dear," Heather said, keeping as straight a face as possible. Hermione growled.

"I mean, I tried telling Abernathy that I know exactly what I'm doing and that I don't need the help, but he wouldn't hear it! It was ridiculous, the way Ron was looking at me today, I could have sworn he was taunting me or something. Grr, what nerve he had, smiling at me like that, I could have hit him," she said, taking her next drink and setting it on the bar.

"Wait, you saw him today?!" Heather exclaimed, surprised.

"Well, yeah, I went back to Abernathy's office to retort his demands and there he was, just standing in Abernathy's office like a child or something. It was completely unexpected, you have no idea," she said, and she took a long sip from her glass. Heather watched her and smiled furtively.

"Well, was he cute?" she asked.

"What? Are you sure we're talking about the same Ron Weasley?" Hermione asked, stifling a laugh.

"Herm, don't try to deny the fact that he's attractive, because you, me, and the whole of the Ministry of Magic know exactly how damn cute he is, all right?" Heather said, chewing on an olive and grinning uncontrollably. Hermione, who had been taking a sip of her drink, spit into her glass.

"Wait, wait a second…you're joking, right? Wow…I cannot believe you just said that, I'm starting to feel a bit sick just thinking about it," Hermione said, and Heather started laughing hysterically. 

"Oh come on, don't lie, he's cute and you know it! And he's definitely um, experienced," Heather said, sipping her martini with a knowing grin. Hermione choked on an olive.

"What? Heather, what exactly do you mean by that?" she asked, her cheeks turning red. "Wait, don't tell me, I get the feeling I don't want to know…" she said, taking a long swallow from her glass. Heather giggled revealingly. 

"Oh Hermione, it was nothing you wouldn't do, trust me. But really, he is quite talented…"

"Oh really, and when did you um, come to experience this?" Hermione asked, smiling but growing a little uncomfortable and holding her left ring finger.

"Hmm, well, you know our annual Christmas party?"

Hermione needed know no more. She smiled and immediately asked Martin for yet another refill. Heather didn't notice the look of disdain on Hermione's face.

"So, is anything, you know, happening with you two?" she asked uncomfortably.

"Oh no, it was just a one-time thing, you know, that's all," Heather responded, fiddling with her cocktail napkin. "I would never think of anything happening with Ron, he's really not my type anyway."

"Oh, certainly not , not at all," Hermione said, comforting herself. "I certainly don't think he could be anybody's type, really."

"Not like Don. Now he's definitely your type, am I right?"

Hermione twirled the three-carat diamond that nearly floated above her left ring finger and smiled.

"Yes, you are quite right, he certainly is."

At exactly 6:15 the next morning, Hermione rolled over in her bed and slapped her hand down on the blaring alarm clock. She rubbed her eyes, stretched her legs, and sat up. She pulled back the covers and, just before stepping onto the floor, pressed her lips to the mop-headed Don, who in turn grumbled something that sounded a little like "no, Mom, I don't like potatoes." Outside the window, the cheery (through rain-soaked) citizens of London strolled down the soppy streets. Hermione sighed, remembering the day that lay ahead. 

Exactly an hour and fourteen minutes later, Hermione stood in the middle of the living room, briefcase in hand. Don walked out of the kitchen to say goodbye and nearly dropped his coffee mug.

"Wow, Hermione…taking my advice after all, are you?" he asked, eyeing her in awe.

"Advice? What advice?"

"You know, when I told you to flirt with what's-his-face…uh, never mind. All I can say is, I wish you dressed up like that for me once in a while," he said, smirking. Hermione looked down at her outfit, but didn't see anything noteworthy: just a pair of three-inch white and red heels and a dress suit. She looked back up at Don questioningly. 

"Don, I have no idea what you're talking about, there's nothing out of the ordinary here," she said with a playful yet earnest smile. Don chuckled.

"All right, well, whatever you say. You look beautiful, Hermione, you really do, be careful with that. And good luck, I know you'll do just fine," he said, walking over to her and hugging her tightly (yet mindful of his mug… he had had quite a few mishaps in the past concerning farewell hugs and coffee spills.)

"Thanks, I sure hope so. I'll see you tonight then?" she asked.

"Of course, tonight," he responded, but Hermione's mind was too busy reeling to notice the slightly exasperated tone with which he answered her. She flashed him a smile, and with a snap, she was gone. 

She arrived just moments later in a rather large building, with aisles and aisles of ticket booths and turnstiles, and assumed she was in the entrance to the stadium. She headed through the turning doors and outside, where the first thing she saw across the field was…

_Okay, here we go… "Ron, I hope you realize that this is a completely professional relationship, and I am only here on my own will to get this job done, so…" ah, no. No no no… "Ron, ahem, I mean Mr. Weasley, I just want to get a couple of things straight: our working relationship will be based on just that: work, and nothing else." _

The walk across that field felt like it took ages, and wasn't helped by the racing thoughts in Hermione's head. As she approached them, she saw a group of people, most of whom she recognized as her co-workers and now, apparently, the members of her crew. Standing a bit taller than the rest was Ron, and as soon as she acknowledged this, she felt a knot tighten in her throat. 

_Okay, okay… "Good morning, Mr. Weasley, how are you? Are we ready to set up? Do we know when the subjects are arriving?" Alright, I'm ready. I think…_

"Well, here goes nothing," she whispered to herself. 

"Morning, Hermione," came a voice turning the corner. Hermione gripped the handle of her bag and nearly tripped over herself. 

"RON! Um, good morning, how are you?" she asked, adjusting her skirt and taking a deep breath. Ron looked down at her (from his comfortable perch of 6'2) and chuckled.

"Me? Oh, I'm wonderful, and how are you?"

"Fine, thanks, just fine. So where is everyone else? Are we waiting for them, or are we ready to set up?" she asked, straightening up and becoming quite professional. Ron laughed even harder.

"What? What are you laughing at?" she asked, feeling put out.

"Um, nothing. It's nothing, just…you look nice today," he said, changing the subject. Hermione looked down at her attire and suddenly, as though having a revelation, inhaled sharply.

"Oh, uh, thank you, thank you," she said, and she turned away self-consciously. 

Fortunately for Hermione, the remainder of her crew had begun crossing the lawn and was almost across the field. Hermione looked up with a smile.

"There you all are, I was beginning to worry," she said.

"Miss Granger, always worrying about something, aren't you. Well, well, Weasley, haven't seen you around these parts lately, nice to see you again," said a man wearing a large fedora and carrying an overstuffed briefcase. He set it down at the edge of the grass and it popped open at once. From it sprang a large table, complete with a tablecloth and a plate of cookies. Hermione regarded it improper to offer sweets at a time like the one at hand, but didn't mention it. Instead, as the others began setting up their respective goods, she grabbed Ron's arm and pulled him around the corner.

"I do hope you understand that this is completely professional: we are both here to do a job, and that job only. Anything that happened is irrelevant and will stay in the past, so whatever you had in mind--"

"Hermione, I'm only here because I was instructed to be here, and I will have to do so for the next two weeks, after which I will go home, and after that onto my next assignment, and so on and so forth. I'm not here to stalk you, or harass you, and I agree that the past will most certainly remain the past, so please, have no fear. I promise, I'll be good." He gave her one of his crooked smiles and, as Hermione began to feel quite foolish, walked away toward the others to help them finish setting up. Hermione stood alone, watching silently.

"Hmm, wonderful job, Hermione, good show," she mumbled to herself.

Okay guys, review please! I promise the next chapter will be more exciting, so please hang in there! I just had to establish this stuff first, it'll get interesting from here, really! So please review!!__


	3. Seeing is Unbelievable

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry about the wait, but I pretty much killed the power supply to my laptop, so I had to wait to get a new one and everything, so…sad, I know. Anyway, here's the next chapter, I hope you all enjoy it! And make sure to review!!!

Lauren

Disclaimer: Man, J.K. can think up her own plotlines, she doesn't have to garner inspiration from movies, all right? I'm not as good as her. Yet. (mwahahaha…)

Just kidding, as that is quite impossible. 

Chapter Three

Seeing is Unbelievable 

That night, Hermione apparated into her living room more frustrated than she had ever been in her life. She dropped her briefcase onto the floor by her couch and sank into it, sighing heavily. Don walked in briskly and sat next to her, placing something on the floor.

"Hey sweetheart, how was your first day?" he asked.

"Fine, it was fine. Um, why are you wearing a suit, and what's with the suitcase?" she asked, her brow furrowed. 

"Oh, well, see, I've been called for a promotional shoot down in Scotland for a few days. I wanted to tell you, but I had no way of reaching you earlier, so…" he finished lamely with an awkward smile. 

"Oh, um…that's nice, that's great…so when are you coming back?" she asked, crestfallen. 

"Well, they want me for at least a couple of weeks, so we can tour some of the cities down there, you know… It'll be amazing, I hear Scotland is gorgeous…" he said, his eyes lighting up. Hermione frowned.

"Actually, around this time of year it's a bit…" she started, sitting up and starting some hand gestures, and then hesitating, "…no, I'm sure you're right. It will probably be wonderful. So you're leaving now?"

"Yes, I have to. I'm sorry Hermione," he added, looking sad. She smiled appreciatively.

"No, no, there's nothing to be sorry for! Have fun, I hope you have a great time," she exclaimed, and she stood up and hugged him tightly. He chuckled, hugging her back.

"I'll call you tomorrow night, okay?"

She nodded, and he brushed her cheek with a kiss. He walked to the door and, as he closed it behind her, waved one more goodbye.

_Hmm, well that's just wonderful…alone, again. _she thought, sinking back into the sofa and turning on the television. 

She was forty-five minutes into _Pride and Prejudice_ when suddenly the phone rang next to her. She jumped up, then grabbed the phone and clicked the small, gray button labeled 'TALK'.

"Hello?" she answered, sitting back on the sofa.

"Hi, may I speak to Herm please?" came the light, carefree voice from the other end. Hermione thought she had heard incorrectly; no one had called her that in a very long time.

"Excuse me, but who is it you're looking for?" she asked politely.

"Hermione? Is that you?" the voice said, full of awe.

"Um, yes…"

"Hermione, it's me, Ginny! Gods, you don't even remember your best friend?? Has it been that long?" she asked, laughing. Hermione smacked her hand over her forehead. 

"I'm so sorry Ginny, I don't know what came over me…how are you?" she asked, cringing. How could she have missed that?

"I'm fine, um, listen. I haven't got much time to talk, but I wanted to ask you if you were available on the twenty-fourth. It's mum and dad's anniversary, and it would be so great if you could come, we haven't seen you in so long, and…well, we'd all love to see you again. I'm sure it would make them so happy. So can you come?" 

So Hermione was now booked to reunite with the family she had tried to leave behind.

The next day, Hermione woke early, habitually rolling over to kiss what was now empty space above an empty pillow. Sighing, she got up and dragged herself to get ready. Determined to be more self-assured than the day before, she put her shoulders back, took a deep breath, and gripped her briefcase tightly before she disapparated. 

"Ron, where is everybody?" Hermione asked, disgruntled. Ron turned around and smiled.

"Well, good morning. You look a little…down today. Is everything all right? Certainly nothing's wrong with Don Henson now, is there?" he asked with a smirk. Hermione gave him a cross look.

"That is none of your business, thankyouverymuch," she said huffily. "And no, there is not, for your information."

"Hmm, suddenly realizing that squibs are a bit on the dull side? Or did he leave you? Undoubtedly on some sort of trip, off to tour the world, is he? That's the harsh reality of marrying a football player, they never do stay still…" Ron said, as though thinking out-loud. Hermione's face grew continuously hotter.

"If you don't shut up this instant, I swear to you Ron Weasley, you will wish that you had no mouth to speak with…do you understand me? Don't forget, I'm a master with my wand, I could hex you faster than you can blink." 

Ron stared at her, seemingly amazed, until he started chuckling to himself.

"No, I haven't forgotten, Hermione. I haven't forgotten," he said, walking away. 

Hermione turned away and sighed. Just as she was about to lament, she noticed the new group of interviewees approaching from the south side of the field. She rushed over to the center to set up the tables when she noticed Ron taking off to meet them. _No, I suppose it never occurred to him to help, did it?_ As she finished with the last table, the group reached the setup and waited. 

"Well, shall we get started then?" she asked brightly. Each of the 25 creatures began speaking at once, except for one very quiet one. He was, in fact, much less than a creature and more of a person, and it interested Hermione as to why he was there. He looked very unkempt indeed, his hair shaggy and to his shoulders, and his face left unwashed for several days. His clothes were beat up and gray, and he kept his hands in his pockets. She leaned over to Ron and pulled him a bit aside.

"Who is he?" she asked, nodding her head in his direction. 

"Oh, that's Jack. Would you like to meet him?" he asked with a smirk. 

Hermione sat down across from Jack a few feet away from the group, and rested a stack of papers on her lap. Jack observed her keenly, watching how she crossed one leg over the other and tucked her hair behind her ears. She sat up, ready, and he smiled wearily.

"So, Jack, is it? Nice to meet you," she said stiffly, offering her hand hesitantly. Jack grinned to himself as he shook her hand politely.

"It's nice to meet you too, Miss Granger."

"So, what brings you here? I mean, we usually don't get very many people around here, most team mascots and those affiliated with sports are, well, creatures," she said with a light laugh, but Jack remained silent and still. She chuckled again, but nervously, as she clicked her pen and readied a notebook.

"So, tell me then, what is it you have a complaint about?" she asked, putting a serious expression on her lips. Jack leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. 

"Well, people don't often take me very seriously, but then, when they realize I'm the real thing, instead of accepting it, they threaten me. Usually with things like hexes and the like, though I've gotten a few threats concerning poisoned food or drink. Once, though, someone claimed to know a member of the Wizarding mafia and told me I'd find a hippogriff's head in my bed when I awoke the next morning…anyway, it's gotten rather bad lately, and the Ministry's done nothing to protect me or anything. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that gambling is a bit, um, well, looked down upon, but they don't seem to care that I'm not the one gambling."

Hermione looked at him blankly. _What on earth is he talking about?_ She looked over, hoping to find anyone who could be of any kind of assistance, only to find everyone else tied up in other interviews. Luckily, Ron, who was standing nearby chatting with a goblin, had been watching her (for professional reasons, of course…) and came to the rescue. 

"Hermione, Jack's a Seer," he said, pulling her aside. "I guess I should have told you when I introduced you, but I guess I assumed you knew already. Sorry about that," he said, and he looked a bit embarrassed; his ears were turning delicately pink. Hermione stared at him, almost incredulously.

"He's a Seer, you say? Oh, right, sure. Sure he is. Alright, you realize that there's really nothing we can do for him, right? I mean, that's our first problem: who in the Ministry is going to believe that he's a Seer? Because personally, I don't believe in that rubbish, and you know that, so how do you think we can protect a person who is, in technical terms, lying?"

Ron's expression was one of great upset.

"Lying? How can you say that, you've only just met him, you have no idea what you're talking about! I for one know that he is a verifiable Seer, because I've, erm, seen it with my own eyes. Just give him a chance, all right? Just because the idea seems ludicrous to you, the undeniably ingenious, know-it-all Hermione Granger, doesn't mean it's not real, all right?"

Hermione gave him a steely look, then walked over and reclaimed her seat across from Jack the Seer. She placed the notebook back in her lap and looked him straight in the eye.

"So, Jack, you're a Seer. Tell me, who's going to win the Quidditch game tonight?" she asked, locking Jack in a deathly stare. Jack looked up at Ron, who was over Hermione's shoulder, in a questioning manner. Ron, unnoticed by Hermione, nodded his head.

"Puddlemere, by 10," he answered, returning the stare. Hermione looked at him skeptically, recording his answer in her notebook.

"Hmm, I see. And um, you believe this even though Meyers broke a rib last game and may not be able to play tonight? I mean, he's their strongest player, and a game without Meyers is hardly worth playing," she said smugly. Ron's cheeks reddened in anger.

"No, I stick by what I said," Jack said calmly. Hermione jabbed her pen onto her notebook repeatedly.

"All right then, fine. And um, one more thing, if you don't mind. What's the weather going to be like tomorrow?" she asked. Jack opened his mouth to open when she interrupted him.

"In Brazil."

Jack paused and looked once more up at Ron, who again nodded his head, this time more fiercely. Jack looked back at Hermione.

"There'll be a storm in the morning, followed by cloudy skies and a bit of a light drizzle around…six or six-thirty, I'd say," he answered, at ease. Hermione frowned unpleasantly.

"Well, all right then. If you don't mind, I'd like you to come back again tomorrow, just to um, check up on the situation. In the meantime, I'll speak to the Ministry, see what we can do for you in terms of um, 'protection'," she said, stuffing her notebook inside her briefcase and standing up. Ron, still behind her, watched her furiously. She was being inexcusably rude, not to mention incredibly smug. Jack, however, remained calm, standing up only to stick his hands back in his pockets. Hermione began walking away as Ron made his way over to Jack to apologize, but what happened next made him stop in his tracks.

"You're going to die in a week," Jack said casually, as one would announce to another an appointment with a client or at a salon.

Ron gaped at him a little, cocking his head to one side and eyeing him confusedly. Hermione spun around almost violently, and catching his eye, looked at him through heated slits.

"Oh, well isn't that just wonderful. Really funny, you are. Really, really hysterical. Look, I don't know what you're trying to pull here," she said, walking over to Ron, "but it's not cute. Are you trying to scare me into helping him or something? Because this, Ron, is ludicrous. This is just ridiculous. I really don't have time for this, so if you'll excuse me," she said, looking between the both of them before skulking away. Ron turned on Jack just as he turned to walk away. Even as he called after him, Jack didn't bother to turn around. Ron watched as Jack made his way across the field, and when he was gone, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He stood their, pensive for a moment, until he suddenly wondered where Hermione had taken off to.

"Hermione," he called after her, but she didn't answer. Exhaling, frustrated, he ran after her. She had walked off so quickly that he had to run practically the length of the field to catch up to her. When he did, he stopped right in front of her, blocking her path.

"Move, Weasley," she growled before he could speak.

"Hermione, wait, listen," he said, catching his breath.

"No, you listen… I am sick of this. I'm glad you've had your little laugh and everything, but tomorrow morning I am walking into Mr. Abernathy's office and requesting that you be taken off this assignment. And if he refuses, which I wouldn't be surprised if he did, then you know what? I'll quit. Because this is the last straw. I can't take this any more, I'm sick of it!" she said, pausing for effect. She made to spin right back around, but Ron grabbed onto her arm.

"Hermione, I promise you, I had absolutely nothing to do with this. I had no idea he would say something like that, you know I wouldn't put someone up to something like that! Come on now, be reasonable," he said, more desperately than he'd intended. She turned around and glared at him. She watched him for a moment, searching his eyes for the slightest hint of dishonesty.

"Anything else, Ron, and that's it. That's it."

Ron watched as her hair swished behind her like a sheet, and after a moment, she disappeared before his eyes. 

"What the bloody hell…" Ron thought aloud, looking out onto the stretch of field that lay before him.

Hahaha. Poor Ron. Anyway, if you all wanna find out Jack was right, review! I'll be waiting…


	4. Throw Away Your Television

A/N: Hey all! Lauren here with chapter four! I hope you guys like this one, and I hope it answers a few questions. No doubt it will raise a few more though…but that's what I intend to do! So have fun reading, and make sure to review when you're done!!

Lauren

Disclaimer: No man, I know one part in here sounds like something JK could have written, but I swear, it's not nearly as sophisticated as one of her creations…I don't even have a cool name for mine. (by the way, any suggestions for a name for it, let me know. I really do want a name for it…) I'm not JK!! I wish…

Chapter Four

Throw Away Your Television

Hermione pulled open the heavy oak door of the Leaky Cauldron and stepped inside, letting in cold snowy air as she shut it behind her. She looked around only briefly before rushing across the room, stopping behind a large crowd of people gathered around a large box. She shoved against them, knocking someone over into their drink.

"Hey, watch it there—Hermione?" came a voice from below her. Hermione looked down to see Heather and Lavender seated at a low table. She pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down roughly.

"Bad day, huh?" Lavender asked, holding out her drink. Hermione grinned, then took a sip and handed it back.

"Yeah, you could say that." Hermione slapped her hand onto the table and sighed. She looked over to what everyone was huddled over and realized that it was an enchanted box. Looking closer, she saw some sort of game happening. And then she realized…

"Wait, is this the Puddlemere—Cannon game?" she asked eagerly.

"Yeah, why?" Heather answered, looking at Hermione quizzically. "You've never been interested before."

But Hermione didn't respond.As the commentator came onto the screen, her eyes became fixated. Heather giggled under her breath.

"Um, Hermione?" she asked.

"Shh! I'm watching!"

"Hermione, the game hasn't even started yet…"

"Hello everyone, and welcome to the Cannon-Puddlemere game!" rang the commentator's voice from a top box. "I have to say, this game should be very stressful for Puddlemere, what with Meyers in hospital. It's a bit of a shame, really, before last week's game Meyers led Puddlemere to five straight victories, and before the injury it was predicted that, through the victory of this game, Puddlemere would make it to the championships, but now…well, I suppose we'll have to see, won't we? And here come the players now…"

Lavender and Heather watched as Hermione became more and more excited. After a few minutes, she was even joining the other people in the bar in yelling at the players and moaning in various disappointments.

"Hermione, why are you suddenly so involved?"

"What? Oh, um…the Cannons absolutely have to win, or else, you know, Puddlemere will go on the championships, and that can't happen!" she exclaimed, hoping she sounded at least somewhat learned in the world of Quidditch. Heather looked at her skeptically.

"But Hermione…never mind," Lavender said, shaking her head. "What makes you think Puddlemere could win, anyway? With Meyers out of the game? Psh, fat chance," she said, laughing. Hermione's face flushed.

"Well, still, it doesn't hurt to worry," she said indignantly. Heather and Lavender smiled.

"Right Hermione, it never hurts to worry, and nobody knows that better than you."

An hour later, Hermione had gotten through three Cosmopolitans and a bowl full of olives. Lavender and Heather too had joined in the game, and the three of them, as well as the rest of the bar, were on the edge of their seats, watching with baited breath as the commentator announced the Cannons victory. The seeker, Smith, had caught the snitch and had won by 140 points. Hermione sighed, greatly relieved, and took a long draught from her glass. Putting it down, she smiled smugly.

"That was a great game, wasn't it?"

"Hermione, what are you so happy about? It was only a game," Heather said teasingly. "And besides, aren't the Cannons Ron's team?" 

Just as Hermione shot her an evil glare, Martin walked over with another drink for Hermione and pointed at the box.

"Well wait a second, look at that."

Looking at the screen, Hermione saw the referee flying into center field with the captain of each team, and Smith, the Cannons' seeker. Through what seemed like a long, heated debate, the commentator was able to determine that there had been, at some point during the last play, a foul against Puddlemere. The bar quieted suddenly as Smith and the referee started a row in the middle of the field. Smith had interfered with the Puddlemere replacement seeker (who honestly had had no prior game experience) and had knowingly cut him off, causing him to slam into the wall. Following the referee's eyes, one could see the poor seeker lying unconscious on a stretcher, being carried away by two Puddlemere mascots and a medic. 

Hermione voiced what everyone else in the bar wished they could.

"WHAT?? What in Merlin's name is he talking about? Fouled? But that's ridiculous, that's ludicrous! That means that--"

"Puddlemere wins!" yelled the commentator, and the crowd in the field went wild. Hermione jumped out of her seat.

"How? Even if that was a foul, shouldn't they just give Puddlemere a foul shot or something?" she shouted indignantly. Heather pulled her down into her seat and pulled her into a huddle.

"Hermione, that would be all great and dandy if not for two things: the seeker, who would get the shot, is very much indisposed at the moment, and the game is technically over. Smith already caught the snitch, so it'd be a bit awkward to just resume the game from here. So all they can do is take away the points the Cannons gained from capturing the snitch and take it from there. Since the Cannons were ahead by 140, that leaves Puddlemere ahead with--"

"Ten points! Puddlemere wins by ten points! This is the closest, and also strangest, game I've seen in years! What a game!"

Hermione felt her heart plummet into her stomach. Ten points? Puddlemere won by ten points? She closed her eyes to try to focus; all the alcohol she'd consumed seemed to be catching up with her right at that moment. It couldn't have been. It was all a dream. Right?

"Hermione, are you all right? Maybe we should take you home, you don't look too good," Lavender said, lifting Hermione's head from the table. She nodded slowly, then set her head back down. The other two looked at each other and stood up, propping her up on their shoulders. Leaving some money on the table, they waved goodbye to Martin and headed out into the busy London streets. 

Hermione woke up to darkness. Flicking on the light, she looked over at the clock and sat up. She had only been sleeping for three hours, as it was a little after one in the morning, but she felt like she'd been sleeping all day and all night. She pulled herself heavily out of bed and walked into the kitchen to get some water. She had taken out a pitcher and was just pouring herself some when she suddenly remembered what had happened the night before. Her mouth fell open as she spun around to look at the television behind her, and she proceeded to pour water onto her foot. She put down the pitcher and walked over to the table, where she picked up the remote and glanced down at it painfully. Taking a sharp breath, she turned on the tv and changed the channel to the news. She listened in on the news of the Puddlemere victory as she headed back to the kitchen for her water, then went over to the sofa and sat down wearily.

"And now, a check on the weather. Bob?" came the calm, unsuspecting voice from the television. Apparently, no one on the news was aware that the fate of Hermione's life rested in their typically overweight weatherman's hands.

"Thanks, Lauren. Well, you can look forward to more of that foggy humidity, cause we've got lots of it coming. It'll be hanging around for at least the next week, and after that we may see a chance of sunshine…"

Hermione changed the channel, turning on the guide. It was unlikely she'd find anything on Brazil on the local news. She searched until she came upon Global News, turning it on. 

"Welcome to the one o'clock hour of Global News, I'm Christine Thompson, and…"

Had Hermione's head not rested so nicely down on the couch, she might have heard about the storm watch being on high alert down in Brazil. But the soft, cushy appeal of the couch cushion was just too irresistible, and Hermione was out in mere seconds, the weather report on and her glass of water in her hand.

Hermione woke up to sunshine and warmth, and this brought a tremendous smile to her face. According to her, if the nation's weather man couldn't even get it right, who could believe a seer? 

She got ready for work effortlessly, whistling away the time as she practically skipped throughout her apartment, pouring coffee and putting on her shoes. With one more glance out the window, she walked to the center of the room and disapparated. 

"Hi, Hermione," came a low voice from behind her as soon as she appeared. Frightened, she spun around to see a very cautious-looking Ron behind her, a cup of coffee in each hand and a weak smile.

"Look, I know the game last night--" he began.

"Oh Ron, don't be so silly! Me, worried about a silly little thing like that? Why, that's preposterous!" she exclaimed, taking the cup from his right hand and sipping it generously. Ron cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, but he didn't press the subject further. Instead, he shook his head, knowing he should have known better, and watched as Hermione walked away importantly. 

For the rest of the day, Hermione acted as though the day before had never happened, which may have been a good thing if she hadn't been acting so smug about it. Every chance she got, she made sure to point out to Ron what a phony and a fake Jack was, and it was all Ron could do to keep his cool. Finally, just as he thought he couldn't take any more of it, it began to rain rather hard, and everyone outside was forced to move indoors.

"Ron, is there any chance you could do a weather check, see when this is supposed to clear up?" asked Jones, pulling his coat over his head as they walked.

"Sure, just a sec…" 

He pulled something small and black out of his pocket, and if anyone but a wizard had been present, it would have easily been assumed to have been a watch. He held it up in the air in front of his face and let it get a bit wet from the rain before looking at it closely. With his other hand, he held what appeared to be a small, golden globe. He also held this out in the air in front of him, allowing it to become wet with the rain. Hermione, who was a few steps behind him, was watching him very closely. When he was ready, he held the black watch-like object horizontally in his palm, and slowly held the globe over it, letting go gently until it floated above the black object. Hermione gasped silently and opened her mouth to speak, but caught herself and kept looking on. After a moment of watching it gingerly, he, in one swift motion, closed his hand over both of them and stuck them in his pockets.

"The air's a bit to thick and foggy to be clearing up anytime soon, mate. We might have to just shut down for today, hope for better luck tomorrow," he called, rushing under the protection of the awning over the players' box. Hermione plopped down into a seat a couple of feet away, and as she sat there she pulled her gloves out of her pocket. She could feel something, some curiosity, tugging at the back of her mind, and before she could stop it, it tumbled out of her mouth.

"Say, erm, Ron, that thing you just had…can you use it to tell the weather in…in other places?"

"Uh, yeah, actually, it works all over the world. It's rather nifty, excellent for traveling, because it can map out the weather anywhere you go, and--"

"Would you mind if I take a look at it?"

Ron looked at her curiously. He could tell, by looking close enough, there was a bit of fear in her eyes. Without asking any questions, he retrieved the small contraption from his pocket and held his hand out to her. She hesitated, thinking carefully, before she blinked at took it from him. She felt the globe was oddly cool in her grip, though it had been in the warmth of Ron's pocket. She rolled it around in her fingers before she stuck both hands out in the rain, palms facing the sky. After a few moments, she brought them back toward her and glanced down at them. The globe was radiating a low, red light, which grew stronger as she brought it closer to the black object. With it flat in her hand, she held the globe above it, lowering it slowly and gently. It floated right in front of her eyes, and as it did Hermione breathed in sharply. Ron could see the fascination resonating in her eyes.

"So, what do I do if I want to see someplace other than London?" she asked, in a different tone than she had used all day. Ron paused before he answered, not quite comprehending at first, then coming to.

"Oh. Um, just name the place. Say it loud enough so that it can hear you, of course. It's a bit hard of hearing, I've had that there a while now."

Hermione didn't bother inquiring about the hard of hearing bit. She looked at it again, eyeing it suspiciously, then took a deep breath and gave in.

"Brazil," she whispered, hoping Ron couldn't hear.

The small globe rotated, slowly at first, and then steadily more quickly. She felt herself grow slightly dizzy by the process, but she shook her head as it slowed down. She narrowed her eyes to see a small thundercloud hovering over what she assumed to be the country of Brazil, and the clouds looked quite menacing, aside from the miniature size of them. Hermione sighed. 

"Um, so how do you tell how long it'll be like that?" she asked, a bit more harsh.

"Well, depending on the size of the cloud, the air pressure, the intensity of the rain…wherever it is you're looking at, looks like the weather'll be crap there too," he said with a small grin. Hermione frowned. The same sinking feeling she'd had the night before had returned.

"Are you sure? I mean, how accurate is this thing anyway? It's just a little…thing!" she huffed, shoving it back into his hands. She stood up and took off briskly. Ron jumped up after her, but instead of following, he replaced the contraption in his pocket and patted it gently, reassuringly.

_God, that woman is too complex for her own good…_

Hermione apparated in her apartment and nearly lunged for the remote. It was seven o'clock now, if there was really a thunderstorm going on in Brazil, like Jack said, they'd be announcing it somewhere. She flicked through the channels until she fell upon Global News.

"Hello, and welcome to the seven o'clock hour of Global News. I'm Christine Thompson, and this is my colleague Bill Manson. Our top story tonight: a gruesome storm in Brazil that ravaged a majority of their main crops and caused severe residential damage. Thankfully, we've learned recently that the storm only lasted this morning, and at this time the weather's behaving much better, with only a light drizzle and a few clouds, but as you can see here, the damage has already been done. Workers and councilmen have been sent to the scene--"

Hermione flicked off the television and sat down on the edge of the couch. Her face was emotionless, but her eyes showed more surprise than she'd ever known. She fiddled with the remote, nervously keeping her hands busy, as her mind seemed to race and stop at the same time. She got up suddenly and reached for the phone. Her fingers moved slowly over the green-lit buttons, as though dialing them took her back to a whole other time, a time she'd done well to forget…

"Hello?" came the other end.

"Ron…Jack was right. He was right…about everything."

Yeehaw! Well, wasn't that fun! Sorry if the globe part got a bit drawn out, I was kind of getting really into that. So sorry if it got boring! I'll try not to do that again, but I couldn't help myself. Maybe it's just cool, but it was interesting to me…haha. I'm a loser. Anyway, review! Next time, we'll get to see a side of Hermione no one's really used to seeing…lol. So keep it up with those reviews, won't you? You're reactions make writing this so much more enjoyable!!! Thanks guys!


	5. The Importance of a Good Decorator

A/N: Hey everyone, it's Lauren here. I've got chapter five for you all! I hope you like it, I happen to like it myself. (Not that I'm bragging or anything, I just happen to think it's all right.) So read up, and make sure to review! Enjoy!

Lauren

Disclaimer: I'm sure JK would have never thought to torture her characters in such a way, because only I have such a sick, weird mind as to put them in a movie like this. So oh well, I'm not JK. Oh, and I also don't own the line "I see, I say, you pay," which is from the actual movie Life or Something Like It. So don't kill me. (By the way, Tony Shaloub is so cute in that movie. Love him!)

Oh, I also mean no offense in my reference to Jesus, for all of you who are religious. If this seems trivial, I'm just making sure I've got all the bases covered and no one suddenly hates me because I used his name in vain, or however that saying goes. I'm sorry. It's how people talk. 

I'm done now. I'll shut up now so you can read.

Chapter Five

The Importance of a Good Interior Decorator

"I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die…"

"Hermione, I really don't think you're going to die, calm down. And stop that rocking, it's making me really uncomfortable."

Hermione was sitting on Ron's couch, clutching a blanket around herself protectively, and rocking back and forth nervously. Ron had just walked in from the kitchen and was attempting to hand her a cup of coffee, but of course was failing miserably as she simply could not sit still.

"But he was right!" she cried. "About everything! I mean, the game, the storm, what's to say he's wrong about this? What if I'm really going to die next Thursday? Then what?" Hermione glared at him through her wet, heavy eyelashes. She was practically falling apart at the seams, and the more he looked at her, the more he began to feel bad for her, ridiculous as the whole thing was. He sat down next to her and placed an arm around her.

"Look, Mione, you're not going to die, okay? He was probably just messing with you. I mean, it's not like you guys got off to a very good start, he was probably just, I don't know, being immature or something. But I can promise you, you're not going to die, that's ridiculous," he said seriously, rubbing her arm unconsciously. Hermione looked up at him, a tear rolling down her cheek. She rested her head on his shoulder and sniffled.

"Are you sure? I mean, what if—oh my god, oh my god…"

She jumped up from the couch suddenly as though she'd been poked with a sharp stick. Ron looked taken aback.

"No, no, what is this? What is all of this now, we are not—Ronald Weasley, I don't know what you think you're getting at, but I will not—I am not here to be comforted into sleeping with you! So you can just take your arm-rubbing hands to someone else, because I'm DYING HERE!" she cried, flinging her arms frantically and letting the blanket fall to the floor. Ron stared at her, bewildered, as Hermione stared right back at him, furious. This continued for a few minutes, until Ron suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. Hermione's glare disappeared, and was replaced by a frown.

"What, what's so funny?"

"Hermione, you honestly think I was trying to—to—to seduce you?" he asked, still laughing. "That's preposterous, that was almost four years ago, I'm not stupid," he said, shaking his head. Hermione's glare returned as she picked the blanket up off the floor and wrapped herself in it again.

"Oh, so you're saying you were just being a, a 'good friend'? Is that it? So you had no alternative intentions then?" she asked, attempting to sound accusatory but instead sounding a bit hurt.

"No, Hermione, it honestly hadn't even crossed my mind…god, I'm not that presumptuous, you know."

They both sat there, silent for a few minutes, neither knowing what to say. Finally, Hermione sighed, looked at Ron sadly, and took a seat next to him.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she said, putting his arm back around her shoulder. "It was a bit uncalled for, I know. I guess I'm just…tense," she finished lamely. 

"Hermione, there's nothing to be tense about, you'll be fine. You're not going to die, that's for sure."

"You'd better be right," she said, standing up and placing the blanket on the sofa. "Thanks, I'm off to work."

Ron stared after her as she picked up her bag and headed out the door. 

"Well, that was certainly exciting…"

Hermione spent the rest of the day in false confidence, telling herself that things would be perfectly fine, but finding it near impossible to ignore the ominous pang in the pit of her stomach. By the time she left work, she was on the verge of breaking down. She decided that she was going to get to the bottom of this, and in about two minutes found herself back in the bustling hallways of the Ministry.

"Susie," she said, walking into a cubicle on level seven, "you have all the listings of the clients for the World Cup case?"

A blue-eyed brunette peered back at Hermione through a pair of hideous, alligator-rimmed glasses and sneered.

"Yes, of course I do, what do you think I don't do my job around here?"

"Um, could you look up someone for me?" she asked, ignoring her last comment. Susie pulled open a file cabinet and looked back at her expectantly.

"Oh, um, his name is Jack. Jack…" she paused, realizing she hadn't gotten down his last name. She smacked herself mentally and sighed. 

"Hmm," Susie said imperiously. "Well, lucky for you, there's a Jack in here. You might take a look and see if it's him." 

She pulled a tan folder from the cabinet and handed it slowly to Hermione, making sure to look at her arrogantly as she did. Hermione grabbed it and flung it open. There they were, her notes, on Jack the Seer, and behind them was a registration form he had filled out on arrival. She looked for an address, a location, anything…

"Hangar Lane…all right, thanks Susie. I'm off."

She thrust the folder back in Susie's arms and strode off, leaving Susie in shock.

Ten minutes later, Hermione found herself faced with a dark, abandoned alleyway behind what looked like a series of equally dark, equally abandoned buildings. She peered around the corner cautiously, wondering what she had gotten herself into. With one hesitant foot in front of the other, she made her way over to a dingy trashcan and got onto her toes to look over it. 

"H-Hello?" she called out timidly. She could hear a rustling noise from a few feet behind the trashcan, and a head suddenly popped out from seemingly nowhere.

"Hi, what can I do for—oh, it's you," he said, recognizing her face. Hermione scowled.

"Look, I need to talk to you, it's really very important."

Jack looked at her skeptically, and for a moment, Hermione thought she saw him sizing her up, which only worsened her attitude.

"I need your help. Are you willing to cooperate or not?"

After another moment of silence, Jack stepped back and nodded her to step inside, wherever 'inside' was. Hermione raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms across her chest.

"Do you want my help or not?" Jack asked, and Hermione dropped her arms, frustrated. Sighing loudly, she rolled her eyes and, as Jack stretched out an opening arm, found her way past the trash bin and into the darkness beyond.

Jack followed and, just as Hermione began to feel uncomfortable from the lack of light, struck a match; he made his way over to a display of candles and set the wicks afire. 

Hermione wasn't exactly sure what to do with herself; she found that she was surrounded strange, beat-up furniture and tattered cloth drapes. Just as she decided it was best not to sit on the old, dusty couch to her left, she felt the weight of the day finally sinking in on her feet, and began the mental battle of willpower to keep herself standing.

"So, what is it you need help with?" Jack asked finally, after blowing out the match and placing it on the table.

"Um, well, I wanted to talk to you about this whole death prediction. It seems to have gotten way out of hand, and it's been eating away at me all day…part of me wants to think you're yanking my chain, yet something inside me actually believes you. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like you to make another prediction for me. Just, you know, for good measure. So I can tell if this is serious or not." 

Jack stared at her curiously. After he didn't answer for a moment, she began to feel uncomfortable under his stare until finally she couldn't take it any more.

"Well, what? Will you do it or not?" she quipped.

"Actually, I don't just 'make predictions' for anybody for no good reason," he said finally, walking around and moving things from place to place. It bothered Hermione that he couldn't seem to stay still.

"I see, I say, you pay," he said quickly.

"Excuse me, what?" Hermione said, leaning forward as to hear him better.

"I said, 'I see, I say, you pay'. Meaning you compensate me for my services. Is that a problem?" he asked, picking up a chipped mug and wiping it (somewhat) clean with his torn, wrinkled (and undoubtedly dirty) shirtsleeve. Hermione cringed as he proceeded to take a half-empty water bottle and empty its contents into the glass, taking a sip and sighing.

"Um, no, I suppose that would be all right," she said, regaining herself. She reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet, opening the clasp and pulling out a galleon. Before she could even hand it over, he cleared his throat pointedly and looked at the ceiling. Hermione growled. Reaching back inside, she pulled out four more of the gold coins and made sure they clinked in her palm before handing them over. He took them with a smile and walked over to the table holding the candle display, pulling open a drawer and slipping them inside, appreciating the tinkling noise they made when they fell.

"Now, for this prediction, what exactly do you do? I mean, does it just come to you suddenly, or do you sit down and close your eyes? Or maybe you have to, you know, 'clear your mind' or whatnot. Perhaps some meditation?" she asked, moving towards the center of the room. Jack stayed silent.

"Perhaps standing on one foot and hopping around in three circles, chanting North African rhymes?" she asked, her voice suddenly cruel and cynical. Jack still remained silent, and slowly his head rolled back to face the ceiling. Hermione, ignoring the initial awe she experienced at this, crossed her arms back over her chest and began tapping her toe impatiently. After a few minutes, Jack's head returned to its normal position, and he shook his hands and legs.

"Well, I've learned two things. You're not going to get that job. And there's going to be a rather nasty wizards' duel in Scotland, in which three people will die and two will be critically wounded."

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. A wizards' duel? That was crazy. The way he spoke of it made it sound like adventures sitting at a bus stop. And did he just say she wasn't going to get the job? She felt her face flush and could only imagine how pick she was.

"Excuse me, but I'm working really hard to get this job, so it makes no sense to me how I would suddenly not get it. Abernathy said my chances were excel—"

"It doesn't matter what he said. You can't possibly get the job if you're dead, can you?"

Hermione sat in her apartment, more afraid than she'd ever been in her life. She couldn't sleep, although it was three in the morning. She wasn't hungry, though she hadn't eaten all day. She sat on her bed, contemplating the possibility of her life coming to an end in a few short days. She felt very alone, and that was what scared her most. Don was still in Scotland, and wouldn't be back for several weeks, and by that time she'd possibly be dead. She wanted to tell him, or to talk to him at least, but it was three in the morning, and…

"Hello?" came a groggy, barely awake voice from what sounded like very far away.

"Hi sweetie," Hermione said cooingly, trying to relax. She heard Don yawn and imagined him stretching his arms to the top of the headboard.

"Herm? What are you doing, calling this late? Or actually, I should say early, it's…Jesus, Herm, it's three in the morning. What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, honey, I just really wanted to talk to you, that's all," she said, suddenly regretting being so worried in the first place. "I just missed you, I guess."

"Oh, well, it couldn't wait till morning? You know how important sleep is to me, especially with how busy we are touring and everything," he said, sounding like a five year old who'd just had his favorite toy taken away.

"You're right, I'm sorry, I um…Don, what would you do if I died?" she asked, surprised at her own forwardness. There was a dead, awkward silence from the other line.

"Um, sweetheart, what are you talking about?" he asked, almost laughing. "Dying? Since when are you going to die any time soon?" he asked, as if the idea were ludicrous. Hermione's heart sank a few inches into her stomach.

"Well, I mean, like if I were to die next Thursday, how would you feel? I mean, what would you do? Would you miss me?" she asked desperately. Another awkward silence took over the phone line as Don opened and closed his mouth, searching hard for words.

"Honey, why don't we talk about this in the morning, after we've both gotten some sleep and can discuss this sensibly, all right?" he said finally. "You seem a bit exhausted, and I'm tired myself, so let's just let it rest until the morning. I love you Herm," he said, and Hermione felt, if just for a fleeting moment, that Don was trying to rush her off the phone. She of course ignored this, and the feeling of her heart sinking further into her chest. 

"Yeah, you're right. Tomorrow then. We'll both be awake and logical. I'm sorry I called you so late—er, early. I love you too," she said, and right as her lips prepared to speak her goodbye, she heard the receiver click on the other end. She looked at the phone, sighed, and set it down on its base. _Maybe he's right, this is all ludicrous. How did I get so carried away? _She pulled back the covers and laid down, closed her eyes and tried to get to sleep, thinking that maybe, just maybe, it would all go away in the morning. 

Boy, how wrong she was about that.

Okay guys, I hope you liked that! If you did, review and let me know. If not, review, and…let me know. Either way, review! I want reviews! And make sure to stay tuned for next chapter, when we get even more surprises! It'll be fun, I swear. Really. I bet my life on it. 


	6. Letting Go and Losing Ground

A/N: Hey all! Here's the next chapter, finally. Sorry about the wait guys, but lately I've been so bogged down with work! Not only do I have homework, and a test or essay every day of the week, but now I'm working on college applications, and…well, it's hectic. I have no time for anything else. Except this! So you should feel loved, cause any time I do squeeze out of all that, I spend writing this and my other story, so…yeah, that's it. Anyway, I hope you like this one, and I'm already working on the next one, so it should be up sooner than this one was, all right? Enjoy and make sure to review when you've finished! 

Lauren

Disclaimer: I'm far too busy to try to be JK. She doesn't have to apply to college, lucky bitch. Oh well. Who needs college when you're one of the richest women alive? Yeah, I wouldn't either. Humph. 

Chapter Six

Letting Go and Losing Ground

Ding dong… 

Hermione's finger was hovering in front of the small, white doorbell she'd just pressed, her feet firmly planted on the concrete steps below her. She took a deep breath, lowered her hand, gripped her handbag tightly, and heard footsteps approaching the door. She smiled as it slowly swung open.

"Hermione! It's so good to see you, we didn't think you were coming!"

A pair of warm arms enveloped her, pulling her inside. She shut the door behind her with her foot before being dragged into the living room.

"Dad, it's good to see you too. Happy birthday," she said, pulling back to peck him on the cheek. He took a good look at her and pulled her into another hug. Hermione closed her eyes tightly and smiled, glad to see her father again. 

"Well, hello, Hermione," came a cold voice from behind her. Hermione snapped her eyes open and turned around.

"Oh, Clara…hello."

Sitting in front of her was a very beautiful woman by the name of Clara, Hermione's old neighbor, and, before Hogwarts, a very good childhood friend. She was Hermione's age, same build, though slightly taller, and had long blonde hair that clung to her shoulders. Her hazel eyes were sharp and cruel, and were, at the moment, glaring at Hermione chillingly. 

"So good to see you after all these years, Hermione," Clara stated as she rose form her seat, pronouncing each of the syllables in Hermione's name succinctly. Hermione eyed her icily, then looked at her father, wondering what in the world had convinced him that would be a good idea.

"It's great to see you too, Clara."

"Oh, come on now, girls. You used to be the best of friends, what happened?" her father asked, stepping in and grabbing each of their shoulders. Clara and Hermione exchanged looks. 

"Dad, that was years ago, we…we grew apart, and well, people change, and—"

"Don't be ridiculous! I'm sure after you two talk, it'll be just like old times!" he said optimistically.

"Dad, we were nine, it was before I left and became…you know," she said, lowering her head.

"Nonsense, you'll be fine. It's so nice of her to come and visit, isn't it? Clara lives in New York now, working hard and earning good money. And she's got a nice family and everything. She came just for my birthday, didn't you Clara?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding sullenly. Hermione broke free and sat down on the couch. 

"So dad, I brought you a gift, would you like to open it?" She pulled her bag from her shoulder and removed a box from it. Her father took a seat next to her and took the box from her hand. 

"Oh, wonderful! Season passes to see the Barons! That's wonderful!" he exclaimed, reaching over and hugging his daughter. Clara, who had taken a seat in a chair nearby, scowled.

"Well, I know how much you love to see Don play, so I thought it was appropriate."

"Hmm, I see originality doesn't prevail when thinking of gifts, hmm?" Clara said smoothly, pulling out her own gift.

"Here's a gift from me and David, and here's something from the kids," she said, handing him a small box and a few sheets of paper. He unfolded the paper and smiled, looking at hand-drawn cards from Clara's five- and six-year-old children back in New York. Then he opened the box and found a pair of gold antique cufflinks. Hermione rolled her eyes. _Always trying to outdo me…_

"Oh, Clara, these are beautiful, where did you find them?"

"Uh-uh, I'm keeping that a secret!" she exclaimed, giving Hermione a small wink. Hermione growled to herself. Just then, the phone rang.

"Oh, I'll get it," Clara said, jumping out of her seat and making herself become important. As soon as she'd left the room, Hermione rounded on her father.

"What is she doing here? It's supposed to be just you and me, I didn't know she was coming! What, Christmas and Thanksgiving just weren't enough? What gave you the great idea to invite her anyway?"

"I didn't, sweetheart, I didn't plan it. She just called and said she was in the area, and that she wanted to see me for my birthday. What was I supposed to do, turn her down?" Hermione crossed her arms, thinking it didn't sound too bad to her. "You and she used to be the best of friends, you grew up together, there was no way I could deny her. I suggest you just make the best of it and try to be nice."

Just then, Clara walked back in, a smug grin on her face, and reclaimed her seat across from Hermione's father.

"That was Don, what a wonderful guy! He's just so polite, we just had the most wonderful conversation about—"

"That's great, Clara, did he say why he called?" Hermione interrupted. Clara huffed a sigh and turned to face her.

"Yes, Hermione, he called to say he's coming home early from his trip and he'll meet you at home later tonight. All right? Anyway," she said, turning back toward Mr. Granger, "he mentioned having stayed in Scotland, and I just had to tell him about the time I visited when—"

"Jesus, Clara, get off it! I'm sure whatever he said couldn't have been that impressive, it's not like he's all that interesting!" Hermione shouted, tossing her arms in the air. Clara stopped and raised an eyebrow. Mr. Granger placed his hands in his lap and twiddled his thumbs.

"Oh, right, sorry Hermione. He must not be all that interesting, I guess, since you're engaged to him, and you have to deal with him everyday. Sorry, but unfortunately, we don't all get to be engaged to famous American football players and live in big, fancy apartments in the middle of London, so some things seem really exciting to us small, pathetic, boring people. But I can understand how lame and stupid we must seem to you, so please excuse me." She stood up and walked into the kitchen, looking out the window. Hermione rested her forehead in her hand and looked at her father, who was glancing idly at the ceiling.

"Well, dad, it looks like I'd better be leaving. I have to meet Don anyway, and I've got stuff to plan for tomorrow, so I've got my work cut out for me…happy birthday, dad," she said, defeated, standing up and pressing her lips to his forehead.

"You're leaving? But you've at least got to have some cake, Clara brought a beautiful cake, please take some."

"Oh no, I don't think Hermione would like it. It's too fattening, might ruin her perfect physique," Clara called from the kitchen, still looking out the window. Hermione's eyes narrowed, but she took a deep breath and walked over to the door.

"I love you, dad. Call me later, all right?" She blew him a kiss and, with one more glance at Clara, closed the door shut behind her. 

When Don entered his apartment a few hours later, he was met with a big shock. Every single light in the place was on. There was water running in the sink, there were dirty dishes all over the counter, and a few miscellaneous frozen food boxes strewn across the floor. (It looked as though they had been thrown at the trash can, and had then sadly missed.) Yet, most noticeably, there was some extremely loud, extremely obnoxious (to Don, anyway) music blasting from seemingly everywhere. He paused in the doorway, took a cautious look around, then carefully made his way through the kitchen and took a tentative step into the living room. 

Hermione was seated on the couch, looking through some books that sat in her lap. Her hair fell in frizzy, wild curls down her back, one of which she was twirling a strand of hair around her hair absentmindedly. She was wearing a large shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, and her legs were crossed beneath her, her toe tapping along to the beat. Don waited, hoping she would notice his entrance, but after it was clear she hadn't, he cleared his throat.

"Oh, hey honey!" she said, looking up. Don looked at her a bit disapprovingly, but didn't voice this immediately. Instead, he put his suitcase down at his side and cleared his throat again.

"Hi, Hermione. Um…what's going on?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just going through some of my old school books. I found my old copy of _Hogwarts: A History_. Look at how wrinkled and torn these pages are! I must have read this book a million times…" She drifted off, sinking back into the book before her and reading it for the million and first time. Don sighed and placed his hands in his pockets, hesitating for a few seconds and thinking.

"What's this music?" he asked finally, looking around the room for the source of the noise. Hermione smiled brightly.

"Oh, isn't it cute? It's the Weird Sisters, see?" she asked, pulling her hair back and revealing her tee shirt: there was a picture of the girls emblazoned across her chest with the band name in large, red letters. "I haven't listened to them in forever, probably since the ball in our last year…I'd almost forgotten about them. It brings back so many memories…" She drifted off again, mouthing the lyrics and going back to her book. Don looked around uncomfortably and winced as one of the Weird Sisters reached an unnatural high note. 

"Hermione, care to explain what's going on? I mean, you've completely changed. You're not excited that I've come home, you didn't even bother asking why I came back early. Your hair is…well, its interesting, I guess, and god knows what you're wearing…you've changed, and I'm just wondering what happened to the Hermione I left a week ago!"

"Honey, of course I'm excited to see you!" she exclaimed, standing up and heading over to him, throwing her arms around his neck. "I just got so involved in looking at all of this that I guess I just got lost in my own little world. I'm sorry, honey."

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain any of—of this," he said, moving his hands up and down in the air and indicating her attire. She pulled back a few steps.

"Oh, I just…is it horrible?"

Don watched as her expression sank from excited to sullen, and a small smile played on his lips as though he was overcome with sudden understanding.

"You know what? I think I know exactly what you need…I'm going to take you someplace I always go when I need perspective. Whenever I lose a sense of myself and I get stressed out, I just go there and I feel so much better. Okay?"

He placed a soothing, reassuring hand on her shoulder and rubbed it gently. Hermione looked up at him and grinned weakly and nodded.

"That's a girl. Ready to go?"

They arrived half an hour later (through Muggle travel, of course) at the Cornish Field football center. Hermione looked around at all the bright lights and followed as Don led her to the center of the field. She stood alone for a few minutes as he walked away, and when he came back, he was carrying a football in one hand. She eyed him curiously as he took her hand and walked her over to a spot a few feet away. He stopped and smiled at her, staying quiet as Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"So, now what?" she asked, trying to make sense of the whole thing. Don's smile grew wider. He tossed her the ball and clasped his hands together.

"Throw it," he said simply.

"What?"

"Go on, throw it," he repeated. Hermione watched him, waiting for him to say something more substantial, but after it became obvious she would be granted no such satisfaction, she frowned.

"What is it?" he asked, noticing.

"That's it? All you have to say is 'throw it'? You're telling me to throw a football, and that's supposed to get rid of all my troubles? I'm going to die in like, three days, and you're telling me to toss a football?"

"Hermione, what is—"

"This is all wrong, this is just completely wrong. I thought you were gonna give me some advice, some thoughtful words, something! You handed me a football…I just—I—oh god…"

"So what are you saying, Hermione? This is all wrong? Are you saying _we're_ all wrong? You and me?" he asked, his voice rising. Hermione looked at him guiltily and didn't say a word. Don lowered his head and scoffed.

"I see. Yeah, I get it now. So you're breaking up with me? Is that what's going on?"

"Don, I—"

"No, it's—don't bother. I get it. my football is just too simple for you, I understand. I hope you can find someone who can make you happy and offer you some more sophisticated advice." He began walking toward the car, not looking back to see the tear rolling down her cheek.

"God, why me? Why?" she shouted to the empty field, wringing her hands over her head and stomping her foot on the damp grass.

That's the end of this one, folks! Stay tuned for the next episode, where we'll see Hermione falling apart at the seams…Will she ever make up with Clara? Is she truly over Don? Would Hermione have actually truly enjoyed the cake, whether it would have ruined her perfect physique or not? Find out the answers to these questions and more next week on…

A Simple Kind of Life… 

Make sure to review! Love you guys!


	7. Can't Get No Satisfaction

A/N: Hey guys! Lauren here, and I have a bit of news for you all: I'm changing my penname. From the next chapter on, it'll be WalkTwoMoons, okay? I won't change it just yet, cause I want everyone to get a chance to read this first before I go and get you all confused. Nothing else is changing, just the name…Someone asked in a review if I was going to keep the ending the same as it is in the movie, and the answer is no. For those of you who have seen the movie, I bet you've noticed how much the ending sucks. (I know I have.) For those of you who haven't, don't worry about it. You'll like the ending, that's all you need to know. And from this point on, things will be a little different from the story. It won't be horrible or anything, I'm just adding my own little flair to it. Except for this chapter, where I actually kept the chain of events pretty much the same (including the song—something I can't duplicate.) I hope you guys like it. Anyway, enjoy this chapter. It's one of my faves…seeing Hermione crazy is always a good thing. And review!

And by the way, I've decided to keep all the "define" lines, because I just think it's so incredibly sexy the way Ed Burns says it...ahh…it's good. I had to keep it in, because Ron is sexy, and Ed Burns is sexy, so…Ron gets his lines. End of story.

Lauren

Disclaimer: no. No, no, no. No way I own Harry Potter. 

Chapter Six

(Can't Get No) Satisfaction

It was ten forty-five in the morning and Ron was pacing back and forth, running the grass bare. Jones had disapparated back to the Ministry, and Darcy and the others were trying their best to conduct business as usual. Hermione hadn't shown up for work, which was always unusual because she was always early. They had looked for her at her apartment, they asked Heather if she'd seen her, and they even contacted Don to see if he'd heard anything. But there was no sign of Hermione anywhere. Ron looked up and fell still as he heard a popping sound: it was Jones.

"Well, I talked to Abernathy, and she hasn't called in sick or anything. There's been nothing from her since yesterday."

Ron grimaced, putting his hand over his forehead and wishing he had a fever and were laying at home in bed. Actually, anywhere would have been better than there.

"Well then, what can we do?" he asked.

"Abernathy said he's looking for a fill-in for today, and that he'd contact us in about half an hour to let us know."

"No! We should wait, I know she'll show up. If we just give her a little more time, she'll get here. This is so unlike her. She'll show up," Ron argued, pacing again. Just then he heard something behind him and spun around.

"Hermione! Where the hell—jesus, what happened to you?" 

Hermione was walking toward them, looking like quite the professional. She had on a Chudley Cannons baseball cap over her wild, frizzy hair that fell loosely down her back. She was wearing a tee shirt and a crooked black skirt, with a pair of black Converse; one was untied. She walked clumsily, and she kept tucking her hair behind her ear. 

"Hey guys! Good morning!" she said, a big grin on her face. Ron and Jones exchanged unsure glances.

"Um, good morning," Jones said, chuckling. 

"Where've you been?" Ron asked gently.

"Oh, you know, here and there mostly," she replied with a wink. She was obviously smashed.

"Hmm, 'here and there'…well, all right then!" Ron said cheerily. "Um, why don't you sit down Hermione, take a rest. You don't have to worry about doing anything today, someone else will come and do it for you, okay?" Ron said, bringing over a chair and placing it next to Hermione, encouraging her to sit down. 

"No, whaddyou mean?" she slurred. "I can do it. I want to."

"Hermione, I really don't think you're in any condition to be working right now, so please sit down," Ron whispered, gently pushing her into the chair.

"Mr. Weasley, please remove your hands from me, or else I will have to have a word with Mr. Abernathy about the appropriateness with which this project is being conducted!" Hermione cried, shoving his hands away. Ron jumped backwards as several curious heads turned their way. 

"She's just—she's just kidding. There's nothing inappropriate—Hermione! Stop it, stop it, this is ridiculous," he said. "Fine, work, see if I care. There's no point in stopping you. Jones," he said, turning away from Hermione, "tell Abernathy that we won't be needing that fill-in after all. If Hermione wants to work, so be it."

Jones nodded, then disapparated. Hermione stood up, tugging at her shirt and raising her head indignantly. Ron looked at her, shook his head, and walked away. Hermione approached—or stumbled, one would say—a man of about 4'6, who was standing in the middle of a crowd of people waiting to get in line. She stopped in front of him, smiled, and roughly grabbed his papers.

"So, um, Mr. Taylor, is it?" she asked, reading the top line. "What is it you have to complain about?" Hermione slurred. Mr. Taylor gave her an odd look. A haughty Ministry secretary stood nearby, keeping tabs on Hermione and monitoring her behavior.

"Well, I feel that my kind—you know, leprechauns—are severely underpaid and unappreciated! We work hard, you know, we work very hard, but creatures like goblins and veela get paid much more than we do," he said, looking up at Hermione from his chair. Hermione gave him a wry grin. 

"Unappreciated, eh? I can understand that, certainly," she said, casting Ron a harsh look. He sighed and began rubbing his eyes embarrassedly.

"I'll tell you about unappreciated," she continued, raising her voice. "You wanna know what it's like to be unappreciated? Try being in a relationship with someone who has no time for you!" The crowd around her became silent as her volume still increased. "Yeah! You spend all your energy trying to make things perfect, and what happens? He doesn't even notice! He's too busy off doing whatever it is he decides is more important than caring about you, and you end up unappreciated!" She was practically screaming now. "Isn't that just the worst? I'll tell you something: it sucks. A lot. It's time to put an end to unappreciation!!" she cried, and the crowd of people around them erupted in cheers. 

Ron looked at Jones in desperation, thoughts zooming through his mind. Was she talking about him? Since when did he not have time for her? What the bloody hell was going on? Jones was looking around frantically, torn in anguish between attempting to calm them and running of in the other direction. Unfortunately, their hesitation left the window open for chaos—and it came rushing through.

"Hey I think I know somebody else who felt a bit like we do…his name was Keith…Jagger, and he had the same problem. And you all know what he said…" Hermione asked, the crowd nearly screaming. Ron rolled his eyes. _Mick Jagger…and it's bloody Keith Richards!_

Just as he snapped back into the moment and realized exactly what was happening, the crowd had erupted into a spontaneous, horribly blurred version of Satisfaction, which was now turning into more of an animal call. The Ministry monitors stood nearby, their quills jotting rapidly, not bothering to help break up the chaos. Ron caught one last glimpse of Hermione as she disappeared into a sea of people (and other such creatures present), her hand bobbing up and down as she and the others rocked along to the beat.

It was dark, and Hermione had to rub her eyes quite a bit before she was able to open them properly. With her mouth stretched out in a satisfying yawn, she looked around the room and took notice of the large bed she was in, the blue of the duvet clashing a bit with the greenish-yellow of the sheets. She stretched her arms above her head and sat up quickly as she heard a noise from somewhere behind her. 

"Well, rise and shine," said Ron, walking in with a tray in his hands. His hair fell lightly over his eyes, which appeared to be a little tired, but his smile was refreshing and bright. Hermione would have gasped if she hadn't felt something catch in her throat at that moment. He walked over to her side of the bed and laid the tray down next to her.

"Here we go…a hair of the dog that bit you. What were you drinking last?" he asked, a chipper grin on his lips. Hermione groaned, looking at the several glasses and settling on a particularly intense-looking drink. Ron chuckled.

"Oh yes, that'll do then," he said, picking the glass up by the rim and handling it to her gingerly. Hermione grimaced, watching it for a while, and Ron got up to open the blinds. As he sat back down, she gave him a skeptical look, but, seeing Ron's face, resigned and proceeded to down its contents. She immediately gagged, and it was all Ron could do to slap her on the back a few times to get her to relax. She extended her tongue a few times in disgust—much like a cat would with a fur ball—and then took a deep breath. Ron watched her silently.

"So, how are you feeling?" he asked finally. She looked up at him wearily.

"Like hell. What happened?" she asked. Suddenly, her eyes grew large. "Wait, we didn't—"

"No! No, we didn't." he answered, chuckling. "No, you um, you passed out in my car."

Hermione smiled meekly, giving him a small 'oh'. She remained silent, wringing her hands nervously in her lap, until a thought suddenly occurred to her.

"Ron, what exactly was I doing in your car? What happened yesterday?" 

Ron's eyes flicked up to meet her, and she noticed a sudden nervousness appear in them. He looked around the room, looking for something that would either aid in the creation of an excuse or distract her. Hermione noticed just then a wand—her wand—sitting on the bedside table, and before he realized it, she grabbed for it and pointed it at the box sitting on the table on the opposite side of the room. 

In the instant that Ron lunged over to grab it from her hands, the box flickered on, producing a small wisp of smoke as it did. A picture filled the edges of the box and there, on the screen, sat two news wizards, laughing hysterically at something wickedly humorous.

"If you're just tuning in, our top story tonight is that of Hermione Granger, an employee of the Magical Creatures department at the Ministry," came the sophisticated, almost cocky voice of the female news anchor. "Miss Granger has been previously recognized as a hard-working and very promising employee, conducting breakthrough research concerning, most recently, the tolerance of goblins in the workforce. But this morning, we here at Wizard News received some rather shocking information—yesterday, at a weeklong convention being held by the Ministry, Miss Granger showed up…well, maybe we should let you hear it straight from the source. Mrs. Westley?" As she finished up, Hermione could hear the faint laughter of the woman and her coworkers. The screen twisted, transforming into another picture, which showed the face of, to Hermione's surprise, one of the haughty old women at the convention. Hermione felt her breath suddenly depart from her body; Ron's heart sped up and he shifted uncomfortably, facing away from the telebox and looking at the wall.

"Yes, hello Diane," came a shaky, yet very indignified, voice.

"Mrs. Westley, could you tell us what exactly happened yesterday, by your accounts?"

"Miss Granger displayed irresponsible and, frankly, disturbing behavior yesterday afternoon. She arrived at work, seemingly very drunk indeed, and not only roused the crowd into an impromptu—and horrendous, might I add—performance of that old Rolling Stones song, but made a complete and utter fool of herself, screaming and tossing herself about in a very un-ladylike and very unprofessional fashion. I very much doubt the stability of Miss Granger's position at the Ministry at this point, considering that it would most likely be a very controversial decision to keep a woman like this employed in such a conservative environment."

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Westley," Diane said, as the picture on the screen transformed back to the news studio. "And that's the latest on our top story. We'll be back in a moment after these messages."

Hermione felt the color drain from her face like someone had sucked the blood completely from her body. Her hand, previously holding the wand, dropped limply to her side, and her head cocked to the left slowly. Ron looked at her cautiously, opening his mouth tentatively, but realizing her really didn't know what to say. His eyes drifted toward the telebox. A little leprechaun came on the screen now, apparently advertising cookies, but he pushed this out of his head.

"No, but—but, they can't…they…no…" she whispered, not moving. Ron sighed, shifting over to rub her arm.

"Hermione, it's not that bad, I mean…look, I'm sure you can meet with Abernathy, discuss it with him, and everything will be fine, okay?"

"Yeah, right. Sure, it's that easy, easy for you to say, your life didn't come crashing down in the course of one single day. I mean, my life is ruined!"

"Well, define life."

"Well, I have no boyfriend, no friends, probably no flat, and now no job, so basically nothing worth sticking around for. So like I said, easy for you to say—"

Just then, a loud popping noise resounded from downstairs and a booming voice began to speak, causing Ron to jump up in surprise.

"Hello? Mr. Weasley?"

"Don't move, I'll get that."

Hermione watched as he descended the stairs, her heart settling heavily in the pit of her stomach. What had she been thinking? Surely her breakup wasn't awful enough to get horribly drunk and show up at work to act like an idiot. She suddenly realized that the voice that was coming from downstairs was a very familiar voice, and felt a chill run up her spine. She stood up, crept down the stairs, and stood at the bottom, peeking around the corner. Protruding from the fireplace came Abernathy's head, as jubilant and wobbly as ever. Ron's back was to her, and his hands were wedged firmly across his chest.

"No, sir, I haven't heard from Miss Granger since yesterday morning," came Ron's tired voice.

"All right then, Weasley, if you hear from her, let me know, all right?" His left chin seemed more active than the right. Ron nodded, and with another loud pop, Abernathy was gone. Ron sighed and turned around, walking over to the counter, when he noticed a pair of wide eyes in the corner. When he looked at them, their owner straightened up, embarrassed.

"Um…thanks. For that," she said, straightening up. Ron gave her a sweet grin.

"Yeah, no problem."

They stood in silence for a few moments, looking around the room with goofy, artificially interested grins on their faces.

"So, um, what do you want to do then? Do you want me to get you back home? I mean, you're in no state to apparate on your own, so I'd definitely be willing to help you. Or maybe you could um, go find Don, try and work things out…if that's what you want. Not that you should. I mean…" Ron felt his face flush, and it made Hermione giggle. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

"Actually, I was thinking…maybe I could um, stay here, for a little bit? That is, if you don't mind…"

Ron smiled as he caught her eye.

"No, that would be just fine. I'd love for you to stay."

Hermione sighed, relieved, and gave him a warm grin, which was all Ron needed as thanks. They resumed their awkward position, eyes roaming around the room idly, finding something remotely eye-catching to distract them. Then, out of the blue, Ron chuckled.

"What?" Hermione asked, looking up at him.

"I'll only let you stay if you take a shower, or else we may all be dead by noon."

Hermione laughed nervously, tucking her hands behind her back, but laughing all the same. She nodded her head in agreement and, with one quick look back, made her way up the stairs to clean herself up. 

Heehee, hope you guys liked that one! The next chapter is already in the works (in which we'll see more cute moments), and the next one for Magic is almost done as well, so it won't be long. Review please!! Love you guys, thanks so much!


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